


a window from one heart to another

by Jemi



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: ??????, Angst, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Starvation, Mutual Pining, Stray!Tugger AU, blink and you'll miss it victeazer, but i have stuck my face directly into this au and i do not intend to unstick it, cats are actual cats, i have no idea how to tag this on this website, misto and victoria are siblings but vic has her 2019 backstory, misto reaches his 2019 counterpart's levels of stress, they both have lovey dovey bitch disease and babey.....its terminal, third chapter is literally just pure fluff but its my fanfic and i get to choose what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemi/pseuds/Jemi
Summary: there was no denying it – despite the fact that he couldn’t possibly have realized he had an audience, the tom was staring directly at him.my own spin on the stray!tugger au going around on tumblr.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees & Victoria, Mr. Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger
Comments: 35
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

“Something’s wrong, Tori.”

Anxiously, Mistoffelees paced back and forth along the windowsill, his gaze fixed upon the snow-covered street outside. The storm that had brought it about just a few nights ago had been a particularly ghastly one, forcing nearly all the humans indoors until the violent winds and paw-sized globs of snow had finally ceased. Now, the streets of Victoria Grove lay eerily silent and cold, buried beneath thick blankets of white.

From her place by the fire, Victoria stirred, opening first one eye then the other, before lifting her head to watch her brother’s dark silhouette prowl uneasily across the frosted-over windows. “What do you mean?” she asked and, when she received no answer after a long moment, narrowed her blue eyes lightly. “Is this about that tom you’ve been watching?”

Seemingly unaffected by his sister’s rather pointed needling, Mistoffelees lashed his tail. “He hasn’t been out since the storm,” he said, claws raking fretfully against the wooden sill. Down below, the street remained maddeningly empty and still, without so much as a gust of wind stirring the bare branches of the trees that lined it. “What if something’s happened? What if he’s hurt or sick or — or the snow’s trapped him somewhere, or…” 

Mistoffelees trailed off, shoulders slumping as he sat down and shook his head. “... _Everlasting_ . I don’t even know his _name_.”

Down below, Victoria rose, leaping lightly up to join Mistoffelees by the window. “Surely this isn’t the worst winter he’s had to weather before,” she told him, nuzzling carefully into his shoulder. “You really shouldn’t worry so—“

“Shouldn’t I?” Mistoffelees lifted his gaze to lock with Victoria’s, even as she flinched back from the sharpness of his tone. “You know just as well as I do what it’s like out there. Don’t act as though you don’t.”

Victoria looked away and went silent, her ears lowering back against her head. The wounded look in her eyes was enough to make a swell of guilt rise in his chest and, carefully, he shifted closer to her, allowing his shoulder to brush against hers. “I’m sorry,” Mistoffelees told her softly, lowering his head in an attempt to meet her eyes again. “Really, I am. I didn’t mean it, I just—“ Again he trailed off, shifting his gaze back to the empty street and letting out a low, quiet sigh. “...It _is_ silly, isn’t it?”

“...Maybe a little,” Victoria conceded wryly, and although it may have stung slightly, Mistoffelees had to admit that he rather deserved it. Regardless, she continued. “But -- if you’re so terribly worried, Misto, why don’t you go looking for him? You don’t suppose he’s left the Grove, do you?”

Mistoffelees shook his head. “No -- no, I don’t think so. I saw him about in the alleyway just before the storm started.” He’d been so badly tempted to invite the other cat inside, to at least offer him a warm place to stay during the storm and maybe a bite to eat -- the Everlasting knew he’d certainly looked as though he could use both. But, no, of course, he’d been a coward, too afraid to be caught in that hypnotic amber gaze and make an absolute fool of himself in front of the cat who occupied his thoughts so often. A faint shiver ran down his spine as he wondered whether or not the other tom might have paid dearly for his own stupid sense of pride. 

“But,” he continued, trying in vain to shake those disturbing thoughts from his mind, “I’d probably just look like an idiot if I tried to talk to him now. A cat like him would likely take one look at cats like us and think we were being...I don’t know. Condescending, I suppose.” He scuffed his paws miserably against the windowsill, sending a few flakes of chipping white paint to the carpet below. 

Victoria was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “...I think he’s lonely,” she finally said, turning her gaze to the street as well. “Teazer says she and Jerrie see him around their house sometimes, too. I think he must know there are other Jellicles here -- that’s why he hasn’t moved on.” 

It wasn’t an unfair assumption, Mistoffelees supposed. After all, both he and Victoria knew rather intimately just how cold and solitary life could be for a cat without a family, human or otherwise. True, plenty of strays were able to find their own tribes to run with -- other colonies or, on more rare occasions, a house of kindly humans to take them in. But, from what he’d observed from the tom that made his home in the alley across from their home, it seemed that all he did, he did alone. 

Was it silly, Mistoffelees wondered, to feel one’s heart break for someone they’d never truly known? If so, he supposed he must be the silliest, most sentimental cat alive.

\--

Days passed with no sign of the wild-looking stray tom that had made his temporary home in the alleyway across the street. Mistoffelees remained vigilant regardless, often needing to be coaxed down from his position at the window by Victoria in order to eat and sleep with any sort of regularity. She sat with him sometimes, just to keep him company and try to turn his attention towards something a little more productive than sitting around and waiting -- but, it never truly worked. 

The family had no idea what to do about it, of course. On more than one occasion, the little girl had tried to tempt Mistoffelees down from his perch with his favorite feather toy, which he typically took great pleasure in chasing around the house. But even that did little to sway him from his watch. Eventually, she, too, took to sitting with him for short periods of time, stroking him gently and trying to catch sight of exactly what it was that he was staring at while her fathers murmured between themselves about taking their beloved pet to a veterinarian, if whatever this strange affliction was got any worse. 

And then, one night, there he was.

Mistoffelees was sure his heart must have nearly burst free from his chest when, while reclining in his usual place at the window, he spotted a familiar, ragged-looking figure slink out of the alleyway and into the light of the street lamp at its mouth. With a choked yowl, he leapt up, all but pressing his muzzle against the glass, as though the closer he looked, the more he’d be able to assuage the desperate, cloying anxiety that had consumed him ever since the first flurries of snow had begun to fall all those nights ago. His tail quivered behind him, and, dimly, Mistoffelees found himself _very_ glad that Victoria had already retired to her bed in the study for the evening.

Across the street, the tom paused, lifting his head to scent the air. Even from his rather high vantage point, Mistoffelees could see the other cat looked even worse for wear than usual. The easy, prideful grace that Mistoffelees had admired so many times was all but gone, replaced instead by a slow, heavy pace that spoke of little but exhaustion. His once thick, lovely coat had gone matted, covered in knots and tangles that Mistoffelees was certain hadn’t all been there before, and beneath it, the outline of his ribs was painfully visible. Even small things -- the low angle at which he held his tail and the gauntness in his face spoke of the same sort of bone-deep weariness that Mistoffelees remembered seeing much older, more hardened cats carrying during his own brief stint on the streets. 

It was enough to make his heart clench painfully in his chest, as if some awful, cold hand had somehow managed to reach right through his ribs and _squeeze_ . In the back of his mind, he was thankful for the control over his magic he’d developed -- had a younger version of himself bore witness to this, his desperation to _help_ would have almost certainly willed himself out into the street without his conscious meaning to, and then where would he be? 

As Mistoffelees watched, the tom began to move towards the edge of the pool of light -- only to stumble not more than a second or two later. His handsome face abruptly contorted in a mask of frustration and pain, and Mistoffelees was unable to stop himself from letting out a quiet cry as he spotted the deep, barely-healed gash that curved down the length of the other cat’s hind leg. The fur there had gone dark with dried blood and, now that Mistoffelees could see it properly, it was clear that the other tom was having difficulty putting any weight on it at all, instead electing to awkwardly (and just as painfully, no doubt) drag it behind him through the snow as best he could.

Without truly thinking about it, Mistoffelees lifted a paw to the glass pane before him, his ears pinning themselves tightly against his head. Everlasting Cat, he’d been _right_. 

It was no wonder the other cat was so thin and haggard. An injury like that would have likely made life nearly unbearable for any stray, regardless of when it was received, but to have sustained it during the winter, when there was so little prey and even less in the way of humans throwing away their scraps, was as good as a death sentence. And while, deep down, Mistoffelees knew the thought was almost entirely unreasonable, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were somehow his fault -- that, if only he hadn’t been so frightened of looking foolish, he might have done something to keep him safe before the storm. His humans had enough room in their home to shelter the entire Jellicle tribe, if that was what they so wished; who was to say they would have even noticed, if Mistoffelees had snuck the other tom in through the cat flap and allowed him to stay a comfortable night by the fire while the storm raged harmlessly outside? 

Just when it seemed as though he might choke to death on the guilt and sorrow rising in the back of his throat, Mistoffelees saw the tom pause, his ears twitching. No more than a few seconds later, he’d turned entirely, and, in a single, breathtaking moment, his dark, amber eyes locked with Mistoffelees’.

There was no denying it -- despite the fact that he couldn’t possibly have realized he had an audience, the tom was staring _directly at him_.

The heat of his gaze was positively electric. Even with the distance between the window and the street, Mistoffelees could feel it bearing down on him as if the other cat were no more than a few inches from him, sending a (not entirely unpleasant) shiver coursing down his spine. Dimly, he became aware of a dull pounding echo in his ears, only to realize a moment later that it must have been his heartbeat racing in his chest and fit to burst at the slightest provocation. Mistoffelees had wondered more times than he cared to count just what it might be like to have those eyes meet his own but this…oh, _this_ was far more terrifying and far more _incredible_ than he’d ever imagined.

There was exhaustion in those eyes and pain and hunger and desperation and all the things one might expect from a cat who made his home on the streets. But, beneath it all, there was another quality to them too — a fierce, ferocious sort of pride that refused to allow itself to be broken. In that moment, Mistoffelees did not feel the guilt that had threatened to swallow him whole no more than a few seconds ago; he did not feel pity or sorrow or even the desperate, frantic desire to _help_ that had all but consumed him these past several days.

No, Mistoffelees was simply _captivated._

It could have been seconds, minutes, _hours_ that they stood there, watching each other, neither daring to move. Had he been allowed, Mistoffelees would have gladly sat for the rest of the night, enraptured by those dark, smouldering eyes and the intensity they held. 

It was, however, not to last.

Abruptly, the street was flooded with the harsh, near-blinding light, causing the tom to look away sharply and squint towards the source. Immediately, Mistoffelees followed his gaze, ears flicking forward -- and as the source of the light rolled into view, a harsh jolt of horror gripped his chest. It was a car, one going much faster than Mistoffelees had ever seen them travel down the roads of Victoria Grove and swaying back and forth ever-so slightly as it went. Something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong with the humans inside, that much was obvious, otherwise they’d had to have spotted the stray’s massive form standing in the middle of the road. 

The stray himself appeared frozen, his amber eyes wide and the fur along his spine bristling as the car raced ever-closer towards him. 

A pained yowl burst from Mistofflees’ throat as he reared back, his paws hitting the window before him as he braced himself against it. “ _Run!_ ” he cried, although he knew full well that there was very little chance of being heard through the pane of glass that separated them.

Miraculously, the tom’s ears twitched and his head head shot upwards as though, somehow, he _had_ heard. With a final, fleeting glance towards the window, he began to gracelessly scramble out of the road, dragging his injured leg behind him as he fled towards the sidewalk as quickly as it would allow. 

For one terrifying moment, it looked as though he might be too late. Mistoffelees felt his breath catch painfully in his throat, and although he wanted nothing more to than to look away, his gaze remained locked in place on the road. But, there was no screech of tires, no sickening thud, no bright sprays of crimson against the snow and certainly no final wails of agony floating up towards Mistoffelees’ perch. Instead all he saw, as the car continued to make its unsteady way down the street, was the very tip of a feathery tail vanish into the darkness of the alleyway.

The stray was gone just as quickly and as silently as he had arrived.

\--

Mistoffelees was decidedly not in the habit of stealing food from his humans. 

Unlike certain calico compatriots of his, he found little pleasure in taking things for which he had no use -- and he certainly did not have any use for excess food, not when his humans took such great pains to maintain his and Victoria’s steady diets of fresh meat and fish. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t, of course. After all, there was very, very little that Mistoffelees _couldn’t_ do, with the employ of a little magic. But, he’d never really felt the need to help himself to anything the humans kept for themselves before in all his time with them. 

Tonight, however, was a far different story.

In hindsight, Mistoffelees often wondered if he ought to have at least felt a touch guilty about magicking open the strange, metal box the humans stored their food in and stealing inside to pull out a particularly large trout that was most certainly reserved for non-feline consumption. It was, after all, quite the breach of trust, he supposed. However, it was also, in his opinion, entirely necessary. The humans would hardly find themselves starving to death over the loss of one fish, after all -- whereas in the case of its intended recipient, the matter could very well be one of life and death.

Besides, he’d reasoned, his humans were quite the matching set of bleeding hearts when it came to strays. Considering they’d taken in not only himself but Victoria as well, Mistoffelees had no doubt they would have likely done this sort of thing themselves, had they known about the tom living in the alleyway across from their home. He was simply taking initiative, that was all.

The fish was large and unwieldy, nearly the size of Mistoffelees himself, but with the help of a little magic, he was able to swiftly pull it out the metal box by its tail and vanish, only to reappear in the small front garden his humans kept. The bitter chill in the mid-winter air made him shiver as he stepped carefully between the rows of plants, and for a moment, he found himself regretting not also fetching something to keep warm with. His humans had plenty of spare blankets laying around their home -- but then again, _that_ , he supposed that might be seen as a bit too much. Mistoffelees had already been afraid of coming across as pitying; now, having seen the fierce gleam of pride in the stray tom’s eyes, it had become even more of a concern.

Still, all the same, Mistoffelees couldn’t bring himself to continue to stand by and watch as he suffered. Perhaps it was foolish to be so very attached to a cat with whom he’d never even had a conversation before, but Mistoffelees was sure he was rather beyond questioning his own motives, at this point. Silent as a shadow, he crept carefully across the road, pausing every sort often to ensure that he was well and truly alone, until he reached the mouth of the alleyway.

Here, he paused -- _hesitated_ , more like. As much as he’d been sure of what he wanted to do, now that he was here properly, Mistoffelees found he wasn’t entirely certain just how he wanted to do it. The idea of actually _seeing_ the stray tom again, and not only that, but of being no more than a few feet away from him, filled Mistoffelees with a foreign ( _and_ _certainly irrational)_ sense of something that very nearly felt like nervousness. What was he meant to say to him -- _hello, it’s me from the window, you look as though you’re about to drop dead at any moment, would you like this fish?_ Yes, that would make quite the first impression, wouldn’t it? Everlasting, he was bound to make a fool out of himself no matter what he did.

He couldn’t deliberate for very long, that much was for certain. It was only a matter of time before he was scented outside what was ostensibly the strange cat’s territory, and as much as Mistoffelees knew any attempts to speak to the large, handsome tom would make him look foolish, the idea of being seen as an _invader_ was even worse. Even in the poor condition he’d seen the other tom in just a short time ago, Mistoffelees had no doubt about his chances against a rough, hardened street cat who had likely spent his entire life fighting for every scrap he could close his claws around. 

Eventually, his decision made, Mistoffelees flicked his tail towards a pile of human rubbish, which abruptly fell over with a loud clanging noise. By the time it had settled, he was gone, leaving behind only the fish and a faint sparkle in the air.

He did not return to the window that night.

\--

Misery was, Tugger had found, something one rather grew accustomed to, after a time.

It wasn’t even a very difficult sort of thing, really. On the streets, there were other matters that needed near-constant attending to that made it rather easy to keep from any sort of _wallowing_. One learned quickly that bouts of self-pity were dreadfully useless sorts of things -- they did very little to keep one warm or fill an empty stomach. Either that, or one did not learn at all and instead became just another one of old, broken-down husks that had perhaps once been cats lingering at the mouths of alleyways in hopes of inspiring enough pity from the humans that passed by to be tossed a scrap or two to keep themselves alive for another day.

He’d vowed to himself long ago to never allow himself to fall into such a state, and thus, he had indeed grown accustomed to his misery. It was very easy, after all, to sleep alone in cold, dark alleys and to spend days scrounging about in dustbins in search of a meal when one thought very little of it. So long as he never once wavered, Tugger could carry himself with pride, passing by those dilapidated old remnants with the reassurance that he would never, _never_ become what they were. 

And yet, here he was.

It had been such a decidedly inconsequential thing — and that was perhaps the worst thing about his entire circumstance, wasn’t it? For years, he’d battled nearly every hardship that could possibly befall a cat of his standing (or, rather, _lack thereof_ ). Hunger, cold, other strays who were as hell-bent on survival as he, humans with their traps and ever-grasping fingers that sought to close around his scruff and drag him off to some awful prison of their own design — all had bowed beneath the ferocity of the Rum Tum Tugger in one way or another. Any cat with sense and even the barest knowledge of the streets knew better than to wander into his alleyway uninvited, and while he certainly couldn’t call himself _violent_ in nature, there was pride to be had in the widespread notoriety. It did one well to nurture such a reputation.

Reputation, however, did very little against wickedly twisted shards of scrap metal that found themselves buried _just so_ beneath drifts of rapidly accumulating snow that they might abruptly slash through unsuspecting flesh. Though it had been days now, Tugger could still vividly recall the white-hot agony that had erupted down the length on his hind leg as he’d made to leap onto a nearby ledge, momentarily turning his vision dark and spotty as he’d crashed gracelessly back onto the pavement. The hideous thing had gleamed mockingly at him as he’d lain there in the snow, bleeding a bright stain of crimson as the storm that had swept its way across Victoria Grove continued to rage around him. 

Such a tiny thing, really and so _easily_ avoidable by a cat of his caliber -- and yet, it had managed somehow to spell the difference between surviving yet another winter and slowly starving to death in the darkness of his horrid little alley.

Dragging himself back to the alleyway he called his own had taken nearly all of Tugger’s remaining strength, and there he had remained for several long, wretched days. The storm had been utterly mercilessly, howling and shrieking and tearing at whatever scant shelter he’d managed to find until he was certain he’d have been no better or worse off without it and blanketing the world outside his alley in icy white. He’d done his best to tend to his injury, licking at it for hours until, at last, it had completely stopped bleeding, but apart from that, his attempts had done very little else. The cut was long and deep and would undoubtedly leave a wicked-looking scar that Tugger could only pray to the Everlasting would be covered adequately enough by his fur -- that was, he supposed, if he lived long enough to see it begin to grow back. 

How terribly morbid.

With every day that went by, he felt more of his strength leaving him -- a maddening sort of powerlessness that might have driven him to more dire straits, had he not been too pained and fatigued to see straight, never mind attempt to move more than was absolutely necessary. He’d counted himself rather lucky when, one day after the storm had passed, a mouse had been bold enough to run practically right across his paws. The tiny creature had paid dearly for its bout of insolent courage -- but it had been winter-lean and hardly provided him with more than a mouthful of bones and fur. It wasn’t nearly enough; but, it would have to do, until he was able to hunt properly for himself again. 

Easier said than done, perhaps, but this was hardly the first winter he’d spent in the company of hardship. The bitter cold and the gnawing hunger may have been entirely unwelcome visitors, but they were not unfamiliar or even unexpected ones. Even without his injury, this was simply the way that winters _were_ on the streets. 

And Tugger had spent more than enough them to know that, so long as breath remained in his lungs, he could count each day that passed as a victory, however small it might have been.

—

” _Run!_ ”

The voice had rung out through the cold night air, clear as a church bell and cutting through the car’s cacophonous roar as if it were nothing more than a whisper. It echoed in Tugger’s head long, _long_ after the car itself was gone -- long after the mysterious clatter from the mouth of his alleyway and long after he’d bedded down in his nest of cast-off rags, his belly full and the rest of him nearly as close to comfortable as, he supposed, one could get on the streets. 

Just that one word was all it had taken; had he not already been bewitched by visions of sleek, velvety black-and-white fur and intense yellow eyes, Tugger would have surely been swept away simply by the voice that seemed to have called out from thin air, but that he knew could only belong to one cat. Even in its panic and terror, it held a sort of melody to it, an element of _mystery_ that tugged at his natural, feline curiosity with such an insistence that he knew, one day, he’d have to seek it out himself.

Such ability, he thought, to have been able to call out even with a pane of glass and a good distance between them. One might have even gone so far as to call it _magical_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if any cat could bring back the magic of the ball that macavity had so thoroughly disrupted, it was tugger — mistoffelees knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. there wasn’t another cat in the world he would have trusted more with his song.

“I need you.” **  
**

Mistoffelees hadn’t meant for the words to come out like that – not really. But, he’d known he had to say _something_ to catch the other tom’s attention before he slunk off and vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the junkyard. No more than a few moments ago, the night had seemed alive and somehow bright, the Jellicle moon overhead casting the world in glittering shades of silver, but now…now, it was simply _dark_ and foreboding, as though each and every shadow held some new horror just waiting to spring at any cat that tried to pass by. The last thing Mistoffelees wanted was to lose Tugger to that darkness; not now, when so much had already gone wrong.

And besides, Macavity could have been anywhere by now. He’d already spirited away Old Deuteronomy; who was to say he wouldn’t do the same - or worse - to any Jellicle cat unlucky enough to cross his path?

It hadn’t been a lie, either. Mistoffelees did need Tugger. He only wished he’d found some way to say it that didn’t reveal so plainly that it wasn’t just a matter of needing his _help_.

The stray narrowed his amber eyes, lashing his tail so sharply that Mistoffelees found himself taking a cautious step back. “Do you?” His tone was cool, detached – or, at least, it very much wanted to be. Only a particularly sharp-eared cat would have been able to detect that ever-so slight note of true, wavering uncertainty buried beneath layers of attempted indifference. “And why would that be, exactly?”

For a long moment, the two held each other’s gazes, and although Mistoffelees could feel that same electric heat from so many months ago, he forced himself not to look away. Instead, he straightened – although, it did very little good when compared to the massive cat before him. “…The others, most of them don’t know about my magic,” he said. “I could – that is, I _think_ I could fix all of this, but…they all might be frightened of me, if I just did it without any warning. You’ve seen what the only other magical cat they know is like.”

Something in Tugger’s expression softened minutely, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Mistoffelees cut him off. “They all _liked_ you, when you showed up. That’s why everyone followed along with your performance, they…trusted you, I think. The Everlasting certainly did when she gave you your music.” It was, after all, a rare cat indeed that could show up to the Ball entirely uninvited and still receive the blessing of the Everlasting Cat herself to present himself before the tribe. Mistoffelees was certain he’d nearly leapt clean out of his fur when the unexpected melody had been struck up to announce the arrival of the stray tom he’d begun to suspect he might never gather the courage to speak to.

“I thought you might…do whatever it was that you did there again.” The very tips of his ears burned as he spoke, but regardless, he allowed himself a quick breath and continued. “I don’t think they’d be afraid, if you helped. Made it easier for them to understand that my magic won’t hurt anyone.”

Although his face was partially obscured by shadow, Mistoffelees could see nameless, unreadable emotions chasing each other across the lines of Tugger’s expression. Finally, he spoke, all traces of forced callousness replaced by a sense of quiet wonder that Mistoffelees would have never once imagined coming from a hardened cat of the streets. “…You want a song.”

A low breath shuddered in and out of Mistoffelees’ chest. It was only four simple little words, and yet they felt as though each and every syllable carried with it the weight of the entire world. “Yes,” he said, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture that he hoped looked far more confident than he felt in that moment, “I suppose I do.”

It was an act of near-unfathomable intimacy for one Jellicle to place their song in the paws of another so readily. The tribe cats were so close-knit that they hardly thought anything of it between themselves – songs were exchanged freely between them and, more often than not, everyone joined in at least a little. But, this…this was so very different from that. It hardly mattered how much time Mistoffelees had spent watching Tugger from the window – he was still little more than a stranger, still not a proper part of the tribe yet. For Mistoffelees to entrust him with his song was practically unheard of, the very same as if he’d somehow plucked his own heart from his chest and placed it, still-beating and fragile, beneath Tugger’s paws.

And yet, even so, he couldn’t bring himself to think he’d made any sort of mistake. If any cat could bring back the magic of the Ball that Macavity had so thoroughly disrupted, it was Tugger — Mistoffelees knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. There wasn’t another cat in the world he would have trusted more with his song.

The weight of this was not lost on Tugger himself. Slowly, cautiously, the maine coon stepped towards him, the moonlight turning his ragged coat from tabby gold to a shining silver. Before Mistoffelees could blink, their muzzles were mere inches apart, close enough that he could feel the gentle exhale of the other cat’s breath against his nose. It was, he realized dimly, by far the closest he’d ever been to him — close enough to see the old, faint scars that ran along the length of his muzzle, the tiny notchs in his tufted ears, and his eyes, those eyes that stared into his own just the way that had all those months ago, in all their gleaming amber glory.

It was these that struck him the most, for beyond the pride and the intoxicating intensity Mistoffelees had all but come to expect, there was something else, something…

Oh — … _oh_.

Tugger grinned, a slow, languid sort of expression, teeth flashing white in the light of the moon. “You know,” he purred, his voice alone enough to send a delicious shiver down Mistoffelees’ spine. “I do believe I’ve just the thing.”

For all that it felt as though the world had abruptly shifted beneath his paws, Mistoffelees felt himself beginning to smirk in return. In a moment of either sheer bravery or sheer stupidity, he leaned forward, allowing his nose to bump lightly against Tugger’s. “I thought you might.”

The other tom chuckled lowly and Mistoffelees felt his heart all but soar at the surprised delight that flashed across his expression. Pulling back, Tugger turned his attention towards the junkyard proper, which still sat dark and silent below the mound of trash they’d found themselves atop. “…Wait for my signal,” he told Mistoffelees after a moment of thoughtful scrutiny, “I’m sure you’ll know it when you hear it.” 

“Naturally,” Mistoffelees replied, following his gaze with a light flick of his bobbed tail. “What sort of magician would I be if I couldn’t take cues from my lovely assistant?” 

“Oh-ho, it’s your _lovely assistant_ now, is it?” Tugger drew himself up, making a show of mulling the phrase over in his mind. “Hm. I do rather like the sound of that.”

“It suits you.” Mistoffelees flashed the other tom another brazen smirk before turning back to the darkened junkyard. His expression sobered. “…We ought to do it now. Any longer and there’ll be too much commotion to get anything done properly.” 

It wouldn’t be long before the Jellicles recovered from Macavity’s electrifying exit from the junkyard, and if they waited much longer, it would be too late to catch their attention. Mistoffelees shuddered to think of what might happen if they attempted to chase after the Hidden Paw themselves. He had little doubt that they could succeed in returning Old Deuteronomy to the junkyard by way of force, of course, but there had been more than enough tragedy already that night. The last thing any of them needed was for any more cats to be hurt as Munkustrap had been – or worse.

Beside him, Tugger drew himself up and, for all Mistoffelees could tell he was attempting to hide any hint of anxiety, he could still hear the larger tom slowly inhale and exhale, a clear indication of nerves in need of steadying. Mistoffelees certainly couldn’t blame him – he could feel his own anxieties prickling at the edges of his thoughts, every doubt and fear he’d ever had when it came to his magic and the tribe’s knowledge of it threatening to swallow him whole, if he allowed it to.

But, he wouldn’t – not now, when it was so very needed. 

Wordlessly, he leaned into the other cat’s shoulder, allowing their pelts to brush as they stood together, overlooking the junkyard. Tugger stiffened just briefly beneath the unexpected touch, but within another second’s time, he’d begun to purr softly. “On my signal,” he reminded Mistoffelees, brushing his muzzle lightly across the top of his head before he pulled away, beginning to carefully pick his way down from their vantage point.

“Of course – good luck.” Not that he’d need it, Mistoffelees caught himself thinking. He paused, hesitated before speaking up again. “And, Tugger?” The other tom’s name rolled off his tongue as though he’d been speaking it his entire life — although, in truth, Mistoffelees dimly recognized that it was the first time he’d purposefully addressed him by name. 

He smiled faintly as their eyes met. “…Thank you.”

Tugger smirked roguishly. “Oh, don’t do that,” he purred, and abruptly, Mistoffelees felt the feathery swish of his tail beneath his chin as he passed by. “You’ve no _idea_ how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

And with that, he was gone.

In the darkness, Mistoffelees waited. The night air, once so full of life and magic that it practically hummed, was now still and silent, devoid of the joy and warmth that so often accompanied the Jellicle Ball. It made him shiver as he gazed up towards the stars, which only winked coldly back at him in reply. Quietly, he sent up a prayer to the Everlasting – _please, please, let this work_.

His faith in Tugger was perhaps more boundless than it ought to have been, given that they’d only just had their first conversation – but even so, that pit of anxiety remained roiling in his stomach. There was a reason he’d not revealed the full extent of his magic to anyone but Victoria, if Tugger was able to coax the tribe into even a semblance of acceptance, Mistoffelees still knew that nothing would ever be the same, after all of this. Whether or not that would be a good thing was, he supposed, up to fate to decide.

Allowing his eyes to slide shut, Mistoffelees allowed his mind to clear, reaching out to the air itself with magical, insubstantial paws. For a long, sorrowful moment, it was as still and empty as ever – no magic, no music. He could barely even sense the near-constant presence of the Everlasting herself, never mind that the connection to the Heaviside layer that this night relied so heavily upon was now nothing more than a single thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

And then, just when Mistoffelees thought his heart might break in two from the sheer futility of it all, from deep within the empty chasm of the night, there was a crackle, a spark—

— And a drum roll.

_He’d done it._

Mistoffelees’ eyes flew open and a grin began to spread slowly across his face as Tugger’s voice floated up from the junkyard below.

_The greatest magicians have something to learn from Mister Mistoffelees’ Conjuring Turn…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in truth, he wished earnestly that it could have been so simple as that, all those months ago. part of him, he suspected, would always be quietly (foolishly) blaming himself for what had become of his dear mate during the last winter storm they’d weathered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! i thought we could use a little fluff to end this bad boy on.
> 
> i didn't plan this to be a cats (2019) release date treat, but hey, here we are, i suppose.

“You’re fretting.”

“I am  _ not _ .”

“Come join me, then.”

The challenge in Tugger’s voice was enough to make Mistoffelees whip sharply around from his place at the windowsill, narrowing his yellow eyes to slits even as the other cat’s gaze remained steady and expectant. Beyond the glass he’d settled himself before, it was as though the Heaviside Layer itself had been ripped asunder, unleashing a raging deluge of ice and snow to cover all of London in sheets of white that would have likely swallowed any cat that dared to set paw outside whole. The wind had been howling and shrieking like a kitten separated from its mother for hours now, rattling the windows and tearing mercilessly at the bare branches of the trees that lined the street. It was all rather enough to send a chill down  _ his _ spine, so Mistoffelees wasn’t quite sure how Tugger had the fortitude to simply lay there as serenely as he was, not after...

His bobbed tail flicked sharply, an irritated flash of white against the black of his coat. “I don’t feel like it,” Mistoffelees stated simply, readjusting himself  _ just so _ and turning back to watch as countless, heavy flakes of snow continued to whip past. It did very little in the way of turning his attention from Tugger -- the maine coon’s reflection was still plainly visible in the frosted-over glass. His amber eyes glittered enticingly as he sprawled lazily across the pile of cushions that the humans had so kindly placed before the fire, when they’d realized their home’s new occupant was far too big to fit in any store-bought bed they could provide. Honestly, why he couldn’t simply look away and mind his own business was absolutely  _ beyond  _ Mistoffelees.

(It  _ was  _ his business, though, and they both knew it. Mistoffelees would hardly have been bothered by the weather at all, had it not been for the memories it inevitably carried.)

Tugger sighed and lifted a paw to reorient the strip of black leather that had found a rather comfortable home around his neck these past few months, the golden spikes that adorned it gleaming as they caught the light of the flames. “Misto, love, you know, I’d much prefer it if you’d allow  _ me  _ worry over this sort of thing. I’ve never known you to carry anything so poorly, but I must say, this brooding is terribly unbecoming on you.”

Mistoffelees looked down at his paws. Tugger was right, of course. There was very little sense in worrying himself into such a tizzy over the what-ifs and maybes that would now never come to pass;  _ logically _ , he knew that well. But, beyond the realm of logic and reason, there was some awful, haunting quality about the sound of the wind screaming across the rooftops over their heads, something that refused to release his mind from the prison of memory that it was forced now to occupy. It ought to have been so easy to forget, he thought -- to join his lovely mate by the fire and allow the reality of Here And Now to erase the images of matted, ragged fur and dried blood and dull, hollow eyes that burned with equal parts pain and defiance, and yet, and  _ yet _ ....

He shook his head once, sharply, as if to clear away those thoughts. It didn’t help. 

“I’m not  _ brooding _ , Tug. I’m only watching the snow, that’s all.”  _ Such an awful lie _ . He was usually rather good with those, when he needed to be. But, then again, if there was one thing Mistoffelees has learned in these past few months, it was that lying to Tugger was one of those scant few things that even a cat of his caliber couldn’t quite manage. It simply felt  _ wrong  _ in a way that very few things did.

In the reflection of the glass, Mistoffelees caught a glimpse of Tugger narrowing his eyes. “You’ll forgive me for prying, but what, exactly, do you intend to accomplish up there? Because, from here, it looks as though the only thing you’re doing is making yourself feel worse.”

Before Mistoffelees could even begin to formulate a properly indignant response, the light overhead suddenly sputtered, flickering once, twice and then going out completely, plunging the room into a darkness that was broken only by the flickering light from the fireplace. To a cat, it was hardly an inconvenience, to a Jellicle even less so - seeing in the dark was, after all, a skill that even the youngest of their kittens naturally possessed. But, it was so very abrupt that Mistoffelees felt a hiss curling low in his throat as he stood from his place, his gaze fixed upon the now dark half-circle of glass that had been lighting the room just a scant few seconds ago. 

Even Tugger seemed somewhat disquieted, his fur beginning to rise along the length of his spine as he, too, turned his gaze upwards. Dimly, it occurred to Mistoffelees that this was likely something his mate had never experienced before, having lived his entire life outdoors.

“ _ Bast _ ,” he spat, some combination of his own anxieties and the abrupt shift in mood preventing him from caring much about vulgarity. “That’ll be whatever makes the lights -- the storm must have broken it somehow.” Far be it from Mistoffelees to know how, exactly; it had never quite concerned him, just how the humans made their lights nor the reason inclimate weather affected them so. It was simply the way things  _ were _ . Had this happened on any other night, he might have simply deigned to regard the whole affair with a disdainful sort of indifference, but now, when anxiety had already been prickling beneath his pelt for hours, Mistoffelees found himself struck with a near-nameless rush of agitation.

Below, Tugger wrinkled his nose disdainfully. “Ugh -- how dreadfully inconvenient. You’d think they’d have all found something to prevent it, by now.” 

“That’s quite a bit of credit you’re giving them,” Mistoffelees huffed, allowing himself as much of a lash of his tail as its short length would permit before leaping from the windowsill to the floor. His claws raked lightly against the old wood of the floorboards as he prowled uneasily towards the opposite end of the room, only to turn in the other direction once he’d reached the bookshelf that marked its boundary. “It’ll have gotten the heat too, I’m sure, it always does. Just what we need on a night like this, hm?”

“All the more reason,” Tugger pointed out lightly, “for you to come join me, don’t you agree?”

Mistoffelees faltered, pausing mid-stride to look back towards the place where his mate still lay, watching him with those smouldering amber eyes that -  _ damn it all _ \- he could never quite bring himself to resist. Outside, another gale of wind roared past, causing the house to creak and settle in the stillness that had fallen over the many rooms and corridors of their home with the sudden absence of light.  _ Everlasting _ , it had to be freezing out there, Mistoffelees caught himself thinking, and who knew how long they had left, until that chill came seeping inside like some horrible, creeping beast, looking to steal away any lingering warmth and leave only the bitter cold of winter in its wake?

It was this thought that was what drove him to finally change his course, padding towards the bed Tugger had made for himself with only a touch of prideful reluctance. The larger cat’s expression softened considerably as he lifted his head, a gesture that allowed Mistoffelees to gently bump their foreheads together as he climbed up to join him. With a low sigh, he settled himself down against the soft, thick fur of Tugger’s mane, his eyes sliding shut and a quiet purr beginning to rumble in his throat as he breathed in his mate’s rich, musky scent. It was, he supposed, at least somewhat embarrassing, considering his earlier pigheadedness about the whole affair -- but, he couldn’t quite find it within himself to care. 

Not more than a few seconds later, he felt something rough and warm swipe affectionately across the top of his head. “There, now,” Tugger purred, and Mistoffelees, to his credit, felt only the  _ slightest  _ twinge of annoyance at the distinct note of self-satisfaction in his voice. “That wasn’t so terribly difficult, was it?”

Rolling onto his back, Mistoffelees scoffed, swatting ( _ gently! _ ) at his mate’s muzzle. “ _ Stop it _ . I’m not a kitten, so you needn’t lecture me like one.”

At this, Tugger only laughed, a warm, husky chuckle that maybe,  _ perhaps _ , made Mistoffelees’ heart flutter just a little. “Oh? You’ve certainly been behaving enough like one all evening.”

He could have protested, Mistoffelees supposed, but honestly, when he went to do as much, he found he rather lacked the will for it. Loathe as he was to admit it, Tugger was right yet again -- his behavior  _ had  _ been dreadfully unbecoming, ever since the snow had begun to fall. It wasn’t even as though worrying was in his nature, really; Mistoffelees had always rather prided himself on his ability to remain calm, focused and composed in situations that most cats would find themselves tearing out their own fur over. His own safety and security, his sense of self, his ability in the magical arts -- all were things he could doubtless meet with a confidence that came to him as easily as breathing. 

Where he faltered immeasurably, however, was the involvement of those he’d allowed into the depths of his heart: his friends and his family and now, his mate. He’d have faced down an entire pack of ravening Pollicles to keep those he loved from suffering; Mistoffelees knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

In truth, he wished earnestly that it could have been so simple as that, all those months ago. Part of him, he suspected, would always be quietly ( _ foolishly _ ) blaming himself for what had become of his dear mate during the last winter storm they’d weathered.

At length, Mistoffelees sighed, shifting to tuck his head lightly beneath Tugger’s chin and lean into the thick ruff of fur there, as if he might find some sanctuary from his own thoughts in the simple presence of his mate. “I  _ am  _ sorry,” he finally spoke. “Really. I hardly meant to fuss so, I just…” His gaze turned towards the window and for a moment, he was silent, watching the snow continue to fall. “...I was only thinking you might still be out there, if…” The tips of his ears burned white-hot as he trailed off, laying his head back down so as to avoid Tugger’s gaze. 

There were many, many  _ ifs _ to consider, of course -- far too many, if you asked him. But, each and every one of them seemed increasingly foolish now. Any fear or worry Mistoffelees might have held in his heart felt as though it might as well have been miles and miles away now, kept at bay by the merry crackle of the fire and the soothing press of Tugger’s soft pelt against his own. It helped, too, Mistoffelees supposed, that he was now more than close enough to take note of just how well his mate had filled out over the months in which he’d taken up residence with his and Victoria’s humans. Gone were the days when curling up to Tugger meant feeling the harsh outline of his ribs beneath that thick coat of his -- although, naturally, Mistoffelees had never  _ really  _ minded that so very much. At that point, he’d been simply glad to be cuddling with Tugger at all, after months of pining after him. 

Regardless, it was comforting to feel the change. If nothing else, it placed a good deal of distance between this winter and the last, and would surely only continue to do, as more and more passed by. 

For his part, Tugger, too, looked towards the window, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. The dancing firelight shone in his eyes and caught in his tabby fur, making it appear as though it might have been spun from gold -- and for one wild moment, he was so singularly  _ breathtaking  _ that Mistoffelees thought his heart might well and truly burst with adoration. 

(Had he been in the state of mind for it, he might have even bothered to find this train of thought terribly embarrassing.)

“...Yes,” the maine coon murmured, and Mistoffelees found himself wondering if he were addressing him at all or simply musing to himself. “ _ If _ . Such an insignificant little word, and yet it changes so very much, hm? I suppose we’re lucky to have it.”

Despite himself, Mistoffelees felt his expression soften. “Very,” he agreed quietly, allowing the tension he’d been holding his shoulders and back to finally release as he nuzzled into the thick expanse of Tugger’s fur. In response, the larger cat purred, leaning over to begin his typical, affectionate custom of grooming Mistoffelees’ ears.

“You’d do well to get some rest,” Tugger told him after a moment’s more of companionable quiet had passed. His eyes gleamed with a sudden, mischievous light. “No doubt you’ve tired yourself out with all that  _ fretting _ .”

Mistoffelees, well aware of when he was being prodded, huffed. “I  _ told  _ you, it wasn’t fretting, I was only--”

“Fussing?” Tugger quirked an eyebrow, smirking at the indignant look that flashed across his mate’s face as his own turn of phrase was used against him. “No, no, you’re right -- terribly sorry. I’m sure fussing is a far more dignified affair.”

In response, Mistoffelees merely rolled his eyes, as though doing so might hide the glimmer of fondness in them. “You,” he began, crossing his paws before him and lifting his chin, “are awfully lucky you’re warm. I’m certain the sofa would be much more comfortable and much less likely to  _ insult  _ me.”

“Ah, but you’re stuck with me instead!” As if to punctuate his statement, Tugger swished his tail forward and around so that it settled over the much smaller Mistoffelees like a large, particularly feathery blanket. “You poor, poor thing.”

Mistoffelees made a cursory, half-hearted effort to bat the great fluffy thing away, of course, but the intended effect was rather lessened by the manner in which he curled himself comfortably into the warmth of Tugger’s side. Regardless, he gave a rather long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I could think of worse places to be.” 

His own protests aside, however, it  _ was  _ becoming increasingly difficult to prevent his eyelids from drooping and before long, Mistoffelees found his jaws spreading in a yawn -- which, naturally, prompted another chuckle from Tugger. “Sleep, darling,” he purred, giving the smaller cat’s forehead another gentle lick. “All this mess will be gone by the time you wake, I’m sure.” 

“Mm.” Despite his very best efforts, Mistoffelees was unable to keep from lowering his head down to his paws. “...I’ve never known you to be so very optimistic.”

“Oh, I’ve picked it up along the way, I suppose.” Tugger smirked, although it didn’t take very long for his expression to shift from wry to something far more affectionate as he gazed down at his mate. “...I think you’ve made me go rather soft, Mister Mistoffelees. Did you know that?”

“Have I?” Mistoffelees turned over onto his back, studying the other cat pensively as the firelight continued to dance across his dark features. A quick beat of silence passed before he smiled, faint and sleepy, but present nonetheless. “...It suits you.” 

“Naturally,” Tugger replied languidly, although it was rather difficult to miss the undercurrent of warmth that ran beneath his tone. “Most things do.”

Mistoffelees scoffed good-naturedly, but offered no further retort. He knew far better than to stroke Tugger’s ego, of course -- but, then again, how  _ could  _ one possibly argue with such compelling evidence laid out before them? Besides, it was growing rather difficult to keep up the rapport that typically came to them with ease and becoming far, far more tempting to allow the gentle crackling of the fire, the comfortable plush of the cushions and, most importantly of all, the warm, enveloping presence of his mate all around to lull him into slumber’s embrace.

He had just been drifting towards that very place when he felt the gentle brush of Tugger’s muzzle atop his head. “Thank you, by the way,” came the larger cat’s voice in his ear, low and immeasurably tender.

“For…?” The word came out as little more than a mumble.

Tugger purred, a low, warm sort of sound, and Mistoffelees hardly needed to open his eyes at all to know just how soft his expression must have gone. 

“My  _ if _ .”


End file.
